d after a moment answered, "Yes, I do,
mother, and I cannot help it." But on turning to look at her mother, she
was shocked at the expression of agony displayed on her countenance. Her
hand was pressed tightly over her heart, her lips quivered, and her whole
person trembled. It was dreadful to see her thus agitated; and Alice,
throwing her arms around her mother exclaimed, "What is it, dearest
mother? Be not look so deathlike. I cannot bear to see you so."

Oh! they speak falsely who say the certainty of evil can be better borne
than suspense. Watcher by the couch of suffering, sayest thou so? Now thou
knowest there is no hope, thy darling must be given up. There is no
mistaking that failing pulse, and that up-turned eye. A few hours ago,
there was suspense, but there was hope; death was feared, but not expected;
his arm was outstretched, but the blow was not descending; now, there is no
hope.

Mrs. Weston had long feared that all was not well with Alice--that while
her promise was given to one, her heart had wandered to another; yet she
dreaded to meet the appalling certainty; now with her there is no hope. The
keen anguish with which she contended was evident to her daughter, who was
affrighted at her mother's appearance. So much so, that for the first time
for months she entirely forgot the secret she had been hiding in her heart.
The young in their first sorrow dream there are none like their own. It is
not until time and many cares have bowed us to the earth, that we look
around, beholding those who have suffered more deeply than ourselves.

Accustomed to self-control, Mrs. Weston was not long in recovering herself;
taking her daughter's hand within her own, and looking up in her fair face,
"Alice," she said, "you listened with an unusual interest to the details of
suffering of one whom you never saw. I mean Walter Lee's mother; she died.
I can tell you of one who has suffered, and lived.

"It is late, and I fear to detain you from your rest, but something impels
me that I cannot resist. Listen, then, while I talk to you of myself. You
are as yet almost unacquainted with your mother's history."

"Another time, mother; you are not well now," said Alice.

"Yes, my love, now. You were born in the same house that I was; yet your
infancy only was passed where I lived until my marriage. I was motherless
at an early age; indeed, one of the first remembrances that I recall is the
bright and glowing summer evening when